Handle with Care
by TVFanoftheYear
Summary: Three perspectives, no right answers. This is what happens when Holly, Shane and Oliver collide told from their perspectives.
1. Holly

_Enjoy the first of three already completed and waiting on my desktop to be released once a day chapters. ;-p_

 _This one is for Diane, who has been waiting for this one for a minute. And to all of you anxiously awaiting From Paris With Love!_

* * *

She always knew where to find him.

Letter in hand, Holly navigated her way through the halls of the Denver Main Branch of the United States Postal Service to the little corner nook that was the Dead Letter Office.

Not much had changed in the few years since she last walked its busy corridors, which became less so the closer one got to the Dead Letter Office. To her, it always seemed a world away from the rest of the Branch, a place of refuge in the midst of a storm, where time stood still and the past was still very much the present. The thought brought her comfort.

She took a left and pushed her way through the first set of doors, then the second, into the Dead Letter Office.

Although prepared to see Oliver, and likely Rita and Norman as well, going about their daily tasks as she had been accustomed to walking in on years before, she instead found the Dead Letter Office completely empty.

Holly looked at her watch.

 _Lunch._

It was no matter-she had the place to herself and the freedom to explore.

As Holly surveyed the space for the first time in years, she began to pick up on a few changes. The most notable was the computer only steps inside the room, living on what could only be described as some sort of makeshift workspace that someone clearly occupied. It perplexed her. She couldn't imagine Oliver letting something like that through the front door, let alone giving it décor-appropriate modification. She had seen neither Rita nor Norman with so much as a cell phone. This was definitely new.

She cast the thought aside and made her way to Oliver's desk. She loved seeing him there. In fact, it seemed to be the one place where his happiness was guaranteed.

Holly hung her handbag on the coat rack and sat down in his chair, surveying his desk for things she remembered, only to find it littered with a few boxes he must have been in the process of working with and the various tools of his trade, including his prized letter openers.

Comforted by his predictability, she swiveled his chair around to inspect the trophy display she spied out of the corner of her eye just moments before.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Stanley O'Toole's Dark of Night award. She pulled it down and cradled it in her hands, remembering Oliver using it at home in the mornings. One day he brought it to work, and Holly never saw it again after that. In fact, she had almost forgotten about it.

To her surprise, the cherished cup wasn't alone. It had neighbors-four of them-on a beautiful graduated mahogany display, which prominently featured a picture of the four smiling recipients of the awards.

The smile on Oliver's face was one of genuine pride. It was strange to think that somehow, over the course of two years, she had almost forgotten what he looked like, or how handsome he was. For the first time in a long time she felt butterflies in her stomach.

The butterflies were squashed, however, as her attention shifted to the individual standing next to Oliver. Holly had never seen her before.

Well dressed. Modern. Pretty.

Holly's initial assessment was superficial and without prejudice. If anything, it occurred to Holly that if she dyed her hair blonde, they very well could have been mistaken for twins. This assessment, however, troubled her, and it became pertinent she determine the doppelganger's name, a feat achieved by carefully turning each Dark of Night Award until she found the name she didn't know.

 _Rita…_

 _Norman…._

 _Shane…._

"Shane McInerney," she read aloud.

She looked back towards the computer she passed on the way in. Putting the pieces together, she concluded that Shane McInerney must be their fourth musketeer now. The thought was unsettling for reasons she failed to fully grasp.

She looked down at Oliver's letter, which she had been carrying in her pocket virtually since it arrived. Oliver missed _her_. It was _her_ Oliver begged to come back to him. Whatever this Shane was doing there, it was strictly functional.

 _Click, Click_

Holly had a guest. This wasn't Rita, because Rita was too uncoordinated to walk in anything but flats, and the sound rung decidedly as heels.

 _Shane._

Holly swiveled the chair around. Time to play.

She took a minute to look the speechless Shane over, who looked as though she had seen a ghost.

 _Pencil skirt, nice blouse, ankle boots a nice touch._

Holly experienced all kinds of unprocessed feelings, which unintentionally spewed out in a monologue that her apparent replacement was too stunned to interrupt.

"Hi, I'm Holly O'Toole," she greeted, "Would you like a Yoohoo?"

It was suddenly important for Holly to demonstrate her mastery of the space, and everything in it, even if her absence should have rendered her a guest there. Instead, she acted as if she owned it, or at the very least could lay claim to some remote piece of it, even if that remote piece was Oliver's fridge, and more specifically, his Yoohoo.

Shane remained silent; the stunned look her constant companion. Under normal circumstances, Holly might have been ashamed of her lack of tact in relating to this woman, but she was admittedly threatened.

And then it occurred to Holly that though she had introduced herself, she hadn't quite identified her relationship to Oliver.

She reached into the fridge to pull out a Yoohoo and closed it gingerly, still having Shane's full attention, "I'm his wife, you know."

"Uh, huh," Shane squeaked out.

"Isn't he such a gentleman? He's just the best. And he always does the right thing," Holly continued, walking towards Shane, who seemed to cower at Holly's approach.

That was Shane's fatal mistake. It gave away every card she might have been trying to hold from the minute she walked into the DLO. Holly knew immediately that it wasn't Oliver who had feelings for Shane-it was Shane who had feelings for Oliver.

"And just between us girls," Holly lowered her voice to a whisper as she got within an arms reach of Shane, "he's also a really good kisser…"

Holly walked back to his desk, suddenly remembering the drawer she used to stock with spare ties for him to change when they went out to dinner. She opened the third drawer down on the right side to find three ties still there. She pulled one out.

"See this tie," she said, holding it up for Shane to see, "I got it for him for his birthday right after we go married. Keeping ties in this drawer used to be the only way I could get him to change for dinner in the city. I guess he still keeps the drawer stocked," she chuckled.

Suddenly the door swung open.

Holly's heart stopped.

She may not have seen him for a few years, but he truly had not changed one bit since she saw him last. He was handsome in his well-fitting pea coat, and she could tell Oliver was still partial to his suits and ties.

The look on his face was no doubt one of surprise, but she couldn't help but pick up a certain level of distress as well, as he couldn't seem to decide which of the women before him to focus on.

Not once during the entire twelve-hour flight from Paris to Denver had she even once questioned her decision to return. That hadn't changed. But Holly instinctively began to question her brazen assumption that Oliver had no feelings for this other woman.

She walked around to the other side of the desk and took her place next to Shane, still struggling to get Oliver's full attention.

"Hi, Oliver," Holly said quietly, walking in front of Shane and disrupting the silence that had fallen on the room, forcing him to focus on her, which he seemed reluctant to do.

He remained silent, but composed himself enough to walk towards her and determine whether or not she was a mirage that might disappear if he came too close.

The butterflies in her stomach multiplied with every step he took. She wasn't quite sure what he was thinking, and that scared her a bit, but not enough to weaken her resolve.

When he was close enough to determine that she was, in fact, really standing there in front of him, his face softened and he smiled. His blue eyes cut through her like a heavenly knife. If they hadn't been estranged, she might have pulled him in for a kiss. Seeing that smile made her feel like a teenager in love for the first time all over again. Oliver used to look at her like that when they first started dating, the memory, however, was a distant one.

She remembered the letter clutched in her hand and tried to form a sentence.

"I, uh, got your letter," she said nervously.

He looked down at the letter she carried in her hands, and, for the second time, Holly picked up on something in Oliver she couldn't quite place. It frustrated her, because there was a time that every wrinkle in his brow and dart of his eyes had a description in her vocabulary. All of that knowledge was rewritten and now a mystery to her.

"I see…that," he said, still in disbelief at her presence before him.

A pregnant silence filled the room. There was so much to say, and no knowledge on either of their parts as to where to begin.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Holly pressed on, "I always thought I knew what I was going to say," she admitted weakly.

He seemed relieved that she was similarly uncomfortable. She knew it had to be a shock that him finally writing her a letter would be what brought her back. He probably expected she would just write him back, or at the very least call. But here she was in the DLO, fumbling for words with the one person with whom conversation was once the easiest thing in the world.

"I know you're surprised to see me here, all the way from Paris," she began, not even sure where she planned to take their conversation.

"Are you happy...in Paris?" Oliver asked, his eyes penetrating her soul, as if her answer wouldn't matter if he discovered her true intentions first.

He was a master at getting to the heart of the matter. And his was the question Holly struggled with the most. She loved Paris, but part of her had always wanted Oliver to come after her. If anything, his failure to do so made it easier to stay on the other side of the world, learning a new language and forging her own path. But finding Oliver's letter in her mailbox reminded Holly of the man she left behind, and the question of her happiness, once easy to answer, came into question once more.

"I am. I'm doing well there," she responded carefully, "You remember how I used to sit with you on the patio, going through the paper editing articles on Sunday? It came in handy, because I became an editor of the English-language version of one of the major regional publications in Paris."

"Congratulations."

Holly could tell he was conflicted, as if her good fortune meant she had no intention of staying. She wanted to discuss things with him more, but she couldn't bring herself to do it in the DLO.

"Speaking of which," she began again, looking at her watch and trying to calculate the time difference between Denver and Paris, "I have a deadline fast approaching for the next edition of the publication that I have to be ready for. You know me, I always wait till the last minute…"

"Oh," Oliver said, still trying to take everything in, but also disappointed at the prospect of her leaving.

"I'm staying at the Brown Palace Hotel. You should come meet me for drinks," Holly proposed, grabbing her handbag from the coat rack. "How does eight sound?"

"I will see you then," he said with a half-smile.

"You look well, Oliver," she said sweetly, squeezing his arm as she walked by, "I will see you tonight."

Before she opened the door to leave, she couldn't help to turn back and look at him. He hadn't moved a muscle, and she could tell by his slumped shoulders that it had taken everything he had just to keep upright.

Oliver was fighting with something inside himself that Holly couldn't place, and she began to wonder just how long it took his lost letter to find her.

* * *

 _Pretty heavy stuff, right?  
_

 _Thinking about Holly a little differently now?_ _ _Don't forget to review!__


	2. Shane

_And now for Shane. Enjoy._

* * *

It haunted her, that letter.

Shane still remembered finding it hiding in the midst of all the unsorted letters that had come in that day. The sending address was obscured, but that envelope and those three stamps meant to get it to Paris were emblazoned in her mind from months before.

She should have just let the letter remain lost, but the internal war between reviving the letter for her own curiosity and honoring Oliver's intent to mail outweighed leaving it lost.

If there was one thing she might have done differently, it would have been to present the dead letter to Oliver. She only failed to do so because, without opening it, there was no way to know for sure whether it truly was his letter. Why cause Oliver any more consternation than the situation already caused, especially if it turned out the letter wasn't his. All Shane could do was remember watching him struggle to mail it in the first place-why do that to him again?

Unfortunately for Shane, it was, in fact, his letter. As Rita read the words expressing his deep desire for Holly's return, it seemed appropriate that the letter be forwarded on to its intended recipient.

The decision to do so, however, had left both she and Rita feeling as if they were hiding something from Oliver. Eventually both came clean about their actions. Oliver was perturbed by their admission at the very least. While he managed to remain composed in front of Rita and Norman, the first chance he had to confront Shane separately on the matter Oliver made it clear that he held her mostly responsible. He was never quite as angry with her as he was in that moment, which Oliver claimed had more to do with Shane choosing to read the letter when, months before, she promised she would "never," than the actual decision to mail it.

What she regretted most is that, once again, his ties to Holly created alienation in her relationship with Oliver. When they were at odds, she could feel it in the innermost parts of her soul. She hated the feeling, and the only person who could induce it was Oliver.

Regardless, it made things decidedly awkward and, at the end of the day, exhausting. And it all managed to occur within the past twenty-four hours.

So, returning early from lunch at the Mailbox Grille, she welcomed the fact she was finally alone for a moment.

That was until she opened the door to the dead letter office and immediately got the distinct feeling she was anything but alone.

It didn't take long for Shane to discern a white handbag with a red sash hanging where Oliver's coat usually did. As she continued further into the room, Oliver's chair unexpectedly swiveled around.

The occupant was pretty, with red hair and a bright red coat. And because Shane had done her homework on the internet recently, she knew _exactly_ who occupied the chair. The reality stopped Shane in her tracks.

"Hi, I'm Holly O'Toole," she greeted, "Would you like a Yoohoo?"

Shane desperately wanted to form a sentence, but the drum-like beating of her heart and a preoccupation with the deep-seated dread overtaking her made it impossible to do so. Instead, she simply watched Holly make her way from Oliver's desk to the fridge.

Holly possessed a naturally confident gait, only accented by the swish of Parisian-inspired polka dot black and white dress under a red coat, and the steady tempo of her pointed-toe heels on the hardwood floor.

Shane found it strange that Holly hadn't even asked who she was. But from the way Holly was operating, it was if she already knew, though Shane was far from discerning how it was possible.

She was jarred back into the moment by the sound of Holly closing the refrigerator door, "I'm his wife, you know."

To hear the word "wife" fall off her lips like a title, rather than an honor she had the privilege of living out with Oliver, caused Shane a pang of hurt like knife to the heart. And the fact Holly felt the need to announce it to Shane sustained the pain's resonance.

"Uh, huh," She squeaked out, trying desperately to maintain an outward appearance of composure, despite the fact her worst nightmare was playing out in front of her. Shane could feel her face betraying her.

"Isn't he such a gentleman? He's just the best. And he always does the right thing," Holly continued, walking towards her, the knife twisting harder with every step.

Shane could see the wheels turning in Holly's mind and could only imagine what finally standing toe-to-toe with her would yield.

"And just between us girls-he's also a really good kisser," she gloated before making her way back towards Oliver's desk.

It was a malicious final blow. Holly didn't even stop to see whether her victim was still alive. Shane didn't dare look down to see if she was bleeding externally, because inside she could feel her blood draining. Besides, why give Holly the satisfaction of tending her wounds?

Shane couldn't understand why every word out of Holly's mouth seemed designed to alienate her. Holly's personality and presence were so definitive that somewhere along the way Shane began to feel as though it was _she_ who was trespassing on sacred ground.

And at what point had Holly determined that Shane posed a threat to her? As a gentleman, there were lines Oliver would absolutely never cross. As his wife, it would stand to reason Holly knew that. If that was true, then confiding this most recent tidbit only proved Holly purposed to hurt her.

It worked.

Shane's eyes began to blur, and while she heard Holly's monologue continue, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but fight the tears.

For the first time, Shane wondered what exactly it was Oliver saw-or had seen-in Holly. The wondering was cut short, however, because Shane realized the fact of the matter was it only mattered that something _was_ seen, and whatever Oliver saw led him to not only marry Holly in the first place, but also made him want her back now.

Suddenly the door opened, and Oliver crossed the threshold into the DLO. Miraculously, Shane regained her composure without so much as a sniffle, which she was grateful for. At the very least she could leave with her dignity.

For the first time since Holly laid eyes on Shane, she was silent. The emotional charge in the room escalated, and while not a single word passed between the three of them for a moment, it was obvious there was sense that even the remotest shift in any direction could send the room into burning flames.

This was not a moment Shane had ever intended to be part of, the one where Oliver and Holly reunited. She did not want to feel the years of love, and yearning, and heartache, and even anger that flooded the room. She felt all of it. Yet Shane couldn't help but detect a deep-seated distress in Oliver that his struggle to focus on either of the two ladies before him revealed.

She was fluent in understanding the language of Oliver's face, and in it Shane saw a look she had seen only once before. It was the same look from the day Oliver confronted Shane about reading the letter the very first time. He was silent, but, and perhaps even without his knowledge, the fortifications of his internal defenses were being erected and reinforced to the point Shane couldn't see past them anymore. Within moments he was unknown to her anymore.

Overwhelmingly, however, Shane could feel Oliver's energy gravitating towards Holly, as if he only reserved so much attention for Shane as to not appear to be completely ignoring her. It might have hurt if Shane let it, then again this encounter was one to which she heavily contributed. Actions had consequences-this would be hers.

"Hi, Oliver," Holly finally managed, after stepping directly in front of Shane's only remaining line of vision to Oliver. If there was any question who had Oliver's attention, Holly decisively eliminated it.

This was it. This was the moment Oliver had waited for and Shane only realized in the moment how much she would dread.

Instead of sticking around to watch it play out any further, she took her leave through the side door of the DLO without saying a word.

* * *

 _Only one perspective left. Where do you think Oliver will fall? Let me know in your review and stay tuned for the next installment!_


	3. Oliver

_Wow, this might be the first fic I finish without a single review!_

 _Oh, well. Here's the final chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Lord, please give me the strength to get through today._

It was a prayer he had been repeating all day, and for several days prior.

She had a bad habit, Shane McInerney; a bad habit of pushing him one step further than he intended to go. And the worst part about it was she never seemed to know just exactly what she'd done. There was no way she could have, because he never expressed where he was on the path in the first place-especially not to her.

Admitting to himself that his wife wasn't coming back had been hard enough. He resolved himself to the fact that he poured all the strength of his heart out onto those flimsy few sheets of paper. As it stood, Holly simply had no intention of returning to him. Knowing he said all he could say gave him peace and an enduring strength. He was no longer a prisoner to the unknown, for he had faced and conquered what he could of it. The only word he could use to describe it was freedom. He was no longer a prisoner to the years spent simply waiting without action. He took comfort in his study of the Word, continued to pray, and continued to do his job well.

And then Shane came to him with that unexpected revelation that she had, in fact, found his letter in a pile of dead letters. It never even made it to Holly. To make matters worse, the letter was opened in order to make a determination about delivery. And, of course, Ms. McInerney had been the one to read it. She had promised not so very long ago that she would "never" do so. To her credit, technically the letter had been sent and returned, so he supposed that necessarily voided her promise.

But in an instant, the unknown once more imprisoned him. The letter was already on its way, presumably deliverable, to Paris.

It took months for Oliver to finally forgive and make peace with the situation with Holly and begin considering what the future might look like without her. Now all of that was gone, because all of it was a lie. Holly had not yet read the heart poured out onto that paper. She had not had a chance to respond.

That reality plunged Oliver into a depth of confusion for which there were no words.

Did he even want Holly to read it now? Wasn't it so unbelievably clear she was content in her current circumstances?

And what about Shane? She truly had grown on him in ways that he still found difficult to acknowledge or even describe. Her decision to send the letter put all of that into question, and placed her on the other side of a line he couldn't cross. She had seen how he longed for Holly to come back, but Shane knew nothing of the evolving feelings he had for her. There simply were no words to express all the ways Shane exhausted him. But for all she had broken, she had put every piece back together, and, somehow, stronger. All he could think about now were the pieces in her potentially broken from reading his letter.

While he did his best to carry on, it was finally catching up to him, and he relished the idea of spending a few quiet moments before afternoon tasks to decompose and re-evaluate.

He pushed open the second set of doors to enter the DLO.

Nothing could have prepared him to see, or contend with, the internal battle he had so valiantly fought now coming to life in front of him.

Two paths stood before him.

The first was the path he had been chasing after, that, apparently having received his letter, retraced its steps back to him from the other side of the world, now appearing on his proverbial doorstep.

The second was the path before him daily, delivered to him from the other side of the country that, while wrought with sharps turns and narrow straights, was now as natural to him as air or water.

 _Holly._

 _Shane._

It alarmed him, at first, the prospect of these two paths meeting. Because if they met, it meant he stood at the fork in the road, forced to choose.

But even more than that, he knew Holly. And when Holly was in an uncomfortable situation she often handled it poorly. He could only imagine how she had handled seeing another female, who, by all accounts, could have been her twin, in the dead letter office unexpectedly. Or perhaps it was his conscious catching up with him, as if he had betrayed or forsaken his own feelings in Holly's absence.

Oliver became acutely aware of a great truth that many years on the delivering-end of letters held for recipients, but from which Oliver himself had been shielded from experiencing: the truth is messy, complicated and every action taken once a letter is delivered changed lives. Until now, the lives changed were those of others. Today, it was his life that hung in the balance.

At their best, Oliver knew that both women's personalities were strong, decisive and forces to be reckoned with. Yet today, standing closest to him, Shane looked as though she had fought her way through a storm, still struggling not to drown. He couldn't reach out, he couldn't help her, because the storm was hurricane Holly-he had seen it before.

Then there was Holly. Oh, how he had waited and waited for her to come back to him-to come home. And she was as beautiful as ever. As sure as he was that the sky is blue, he was sure that even as he stood there two years estranged from Holly, he was falling in love with her all over again, right there in the dead letter office.

"Hi, Oliver," Holly said quietly.

It seemed the choice of whom to focus on would be made for him. It didn't sit well with Oliver, but he didn't know how else to handle it, inexplicably unable to choose.

Shane was crestfallen, as if Holly had won the battle she had been fighting since they met, and she exited through the side door. Oliver couldn't bring himself to watch. He wanted to call after her, but he was frozen.

With his attention fully fixed on Holly, the feelings that struck him only moments before intensified once again. He walked towards her, still deciding if she was something more than an illusion. He stopped when he was in arms reach, and he could feel a smile tugging at his lips that he didn't even try to fight.

"I, uh, got your letter," she said nervously, her cheeks glowing pink.

He saw her clutching it in her hands, and remembered every handwritten word. Oliver wanted to reach out and touch her, but he was overtaken by his overwhelming love for her.

"I see…that," he managed, unsure where to go from there. There was so much to be said, where did one start?

He could see Holly becoming uncomfortable with the silence, and allowed her to decide how to fill it.

"I always thought I knew what I was going to say," she admitted.

He had thought about it a million times, but now he could barely form a sentence. It occurred to him that for all the time he spent wondering why she left and telling himself that an answer to that question would be the first thing he would demand of her, in this moment that question didn't even matter.

"I know you're surprised to see me here, all the way from Paris…"

"Are you happy….in Paris?"

The words left his mouth before he even had a chance to ponder them. He regretted it almost immediately, whether because he sounded desperate, or because he was afraid of the truth, he wasn't sure.

"I am. I'm doing well there," she responded carefully, "You remember how I used to sit with you on the patio and go through the paper editing articles on Sunday? It came in handy, because I became an editor of the English-language version of one of the major regional publications in Paris."

He did remember. He used to sit across their small patio table on Sunday mornings before church, watching Holly chew on the end of her pen, which, while it personally drove him crazy, was endearing when Holly did it.

"Congratulations." He truly was proud of Holly. It was one of her dreams, and Oliver was glad she found it.

"Speaking of which," she began again, looking at her watch. "I have a deadline fast approaching for the next edition of the publication that I have to be ready for. You know me, I always wait till the last minute…"

Holly did have a knack for waiting last minute to do things, and he could feel the anxiety it once caused him at the memory.

It didn't last long, though, because his mind inexplicably drew up a conversation he had had with Shane about birds once.

 _It's a bird- they just fly. Sometimes you are there to see them land before they fly off and land somewhere else…They don't come back._

Shane was right, even now. Here for a second, Holly was already leaving.

"Oh," was all he could manage, distracted by Shane's still small voice reminding him to guard his heart.

 _What makes you think they come back to anything?_

"I'm staying at the Brown Palace Hotel. You should come meet me for drinks," she said, preparing to fly off to her next adventure. "How does eight sound?"

 _Birds return to familiar places all the time, he argued. It is a miracle of nature._

Holly was here. It was a miracle.

"I will see you then," he committed with a half-smile.

 _Hope, after all, is the thing with feathers._

"You look well, Oliver," she said sweetly, squeezing his arm. "I will see you tonight."

 _I'm just saying that sometimes you have to get to a point where you stop hoping, and you let nature takes its course._

But nature had led Holly back to him, hadn't it? This was the course set in motion. Or was it Shane that set it that way?

 _Let nature take its course_.

In the moment, Shane's words had felt like a rebuke of his character, of his stubbornness, of his weakness, of his conviction to do the right thing at all costs. Today, they were a stark reminder of the reality he now faced, and the decision he now had to make.

 _This bird has flown, my friend, Shane had said._

 _Let her go, Oliver._

 _Was it his head or his heart telling him to let go? Let go of whom?_

 _Where is it that Shane's remembered words lived-his head or his heart?_

 _Did it matter?_

He had an obligation to Holly. He vowed before God to uphold that vow the day they wed. It was Oliver's priority to keep that promise. Yet Holly's decision to abandon him for a time had complicated that. Even so, it had not voided the vow. There was so much yet to know about Holly and her intentions for appearing in Denver once again, just this glimpse of her made him want to know everything.

Yet there was one reality taking definitive shape that Oliver couldn't avoid, and had wrestled daily with God about on numerous occasions. So far, He had been silent on the matter, but now, whatever His answer, the consequences were suddenly clear to Oliver: choose one, lose the other.

Choose one.

Let go of the other.

* * *

 _Alright, I think that's it on the From Paris with Love fics! Ok, onto my first #NoRita. Yep, you read that right, I'm going to tackle the show's other favorite couple, and I think you're gonna like what I come up with, so stay tuned!_


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